r critic, as far as Janice could see, set much of an example
for his townsmen to follow!

Lottie, with her hand in the bigger girl's, tripped along the walk as
confidently as though she had her eyesight. She was an affectionate
little thing, and she "snuggled" closely to Janice, occasionally
touching her new friend's face and lips with her free hand.

"I guess I love you," she said, in her strange, little, flat voice. "You
come in and see father. We are most there. Here is Mis' Robbins' gate. I
used to see her flowers. Her yard's full of them, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes!" replied Janice, fighting her inclination to burst into tears.
"Oh, yes, dear! beautiful flowers." She pressed the hand tightly.

"I can smell 'em," said the child, snuffing with her nose like a dog.
"And now here is the shade of our big trees. It's darker and cooler
under these trees than anywhere else on the street. Isn't it?"

Janice agreed by pressing her hand again, and little Lottie
laughed--such a shrill, eyrie little laugh! They were before the
gloomy-looking store of Hopewell Drugg. The wailing of the fiddle
floated out upon the warm afternoon air.

The blind girl tripped up the steps of the porch and in at the open
door. "Silver Threads Among the Gold" came to a sharp conclusion.

"Merciful goodness!" croaked a frightened voice. "I thought you was
asleep in your bed, Lottie."

Janice had followed the little girl to the doorway. She saw but dimly
the store itself and the shelves of dusty merchandise. From the back
room where he had been sitting with his violin, a gray, thin,
dusty-looking man came quickly and seized Lottie in his arms.

"Child! child! how you frighten me!" he murmured. Then he looked over
the little girl's head and blinked through his spectacles at Janice in
the doorway.

"I'm certainly obliged to ye," he said. "She--she gets away from the
house and I don't know it. I--I can't watch her all the time and she
ain't got no mother, Miss. I certainly am obliged to ye for bringing her
home."

"She was down on the old wharf at the foot of the street, trying to wake
the echo from the woods across the inlet," said Janice, gravely.

The gray man hugged his daughter tightly, and his eyes blinked like an
owl's in strong daylight, as he peered through his spectacles at Janice.
"She--she loved to go there--always," he murmured. "I go with her
Sundays--and when the store is closed. But she is so quick--in a flash
she is out of my sigh